Learning To Shoot, In the Name of Fiction

I’ve hiked to the top of half dome in Yosemite four times. It is one of my favorite places on earth. I love to dangle my feet over that 5,000 foot drop and just bask in the bubbling sensation that swims around in my stomach. It’s always a little scary, because, you know, I COULD jump, and then, very life affirming to realize that there’s no way I ever would.

I was reminded of this sensation last night at the LA Gun Club. With the help of my friend (to whom I owe many beers) I picked out a 12 gauge, double barrel shotgun. It was just how I pictured it with black metal barrels and a grainy wood stock. It was the closest thing they had to the gun that my character uses. That was why I was there in the first place: to fire the gun that my character fires, to know what it really feels like.

The proprietor tried to talk me into a fancier version, with a pump action magazine and rubber butt (to help with the kick back), but I went with the cooler-looking, more old-school gun (even though, I will admit now, I was terrified of the kick back).

We spent about twenty minutes firing off rounds, taking turns with each reload. By my second turn my nerves had calmed down, and I actually managed to pull the trigger without squinting my eyes. By holding the gun tightly, and keeping my knees bent, the kick back was not as bad as I expected (I didn’t get knocked on my ass), but it was still pretty powerful.

The fear diminished, but my sense of how powerful guns are found a new, solid foundation.

What I found most interesting were the other patrons at the range. There were three couples there on what I presumed to be a date, and the rest of the range was full of men of all shapes and sizes. And that’s what got me to thinking about Yosemite.

Guns can be dangerous, just like sitting on the top of half dome can be dangerous, but as long as you know what you’re doing, you’ll most likely be just fine.

The thing about the gun range is that it’s kind of like a whole group of people sitting on a very high cliff, all with their hands on each other’s backs (I know the logistics of that are a little tricky, but go with it for a sec). You all trust that you’re not going to push each other. You don’t have any choice but to trust it, but then you stop and look around and think “I don’t know the first damn thing about any of you people.”

Then you go home to your safe, gun-free home and count your blessings that your guy’s idea of a date night is more likely to center around ice cream than firearms.